in Harold's cabin. But a quick movement by Harold saved him from
the full force of the leap; in a moment they were grappling in each
other's arms.

Bill wrenched him back and forth, and in an instant would have crushed
the life out of him if it hadn't been for the interference of Pete. The
latter breed leaped on his back, and Bill had to neglect Harold an
instant to stretch up his arms and hurl Pete to the floor. Harold still
clung to him, trying to seize his throat, but Bill wrenched him down.
He flung his own body down on top of him, then seized him by the throat
with the deadly intention of hammering his head on the floor; but before
he could accomplish his purpose Pete was upon him again.

It was the end of the preliminaries. In that second the fight began in
earnest. They were both powerful men, the breed and Harold; and Bill
was like a wild beast--quick as a cougar, resistless as a grizzly--a
fighting fury that in the darkness was terrible as death. Mighty
muscles, stinging blows, striking fists and grasping arms; the rage and
glory of battle was upon him as never before.

It was the death fight--in the darkness--and that meant it was a
savage, nightmare thing that called forth those most deep and terrible
instincts that in the first days of the earth were stored and implanted
in the germ plasm. These were no longer men of the twentieth century.
They were simply beasts, fighting to the death in a cave. It was a
familiar thing to be warring thus in the darkness: Neither Harold nor
Pete missed the light now. They were carried back to no less furious
battles, fought in dark caverns under the sea; murder flamed in their
hearts and fire ran riot in their blood.

They were no longer conscious of time; already it was as if they had
struggled thus through the long roll of the centuries. It was hard to
remember what had been the cause of the fight. It didn't matter now,
anyway; the only issue left was the life of their adversary. To kill,
to tear their enemies' hearts from their warm breasts and their arteries
from their throats,--this was all that any of the three could remember
now. It was true that Bill kept his adversaries away from Virginia's
corner as well as he could, but he did it by instinct rather than by
conscious planning. He had not hated Harold in these months past, but
had only regarded him with contempt; but hate came to him fast enough in
those first moments of battle.

Once, reeling acr